


The Devil Take

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coma, Dooku is just so helpful, Gen, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, I mean he’s a real space peach, Poor Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-06 20:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16394282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Obi-Wan barely survives the battle of Theed and is left comatose. Qui-Gon cannot train Anakin unless he lets Obi-Wan go. Luckily, a figure from his past steps in.





	1. Chapter 1

The Devil Take

 

“And what we students of history always learn is that the human being is a very complicated contraption and that they are not good or bad but are good and bad and the good comes out of the bad and the bad out of the good, and the devil take the hindmost.” -Robert Penn Warren 

—-

Anakin Skywalker didn’t remember much about Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was funny that someone you talked to a couple times in your whole life could end up being so important to your future. He wished he had been given the chance to know Obi-Wan better, before….well, everything happened...then maybe he wouldn’t feel this hot _yuck_ in his stomach when he found Qui-Gon sitting in the dark room at the quiet end of the Healer’s Wing. 

He was there a lot. 

And that was a problem now, because Master Windu said Anakin couldn’t stay with the initiates much longer. He needed to start doing the—what had Master Windu called it?—Jedi stuff. Okay, so he wasn’t listening to every single word, but he got the gist. He knew he was sailing through most of the classes he had to take with the younger kids, and it would be wizard to actually start being a _real_ Padawan and go on real missions and have a braid and all that. But he needed a Master to be a Padawan, and the only Master he wanted was Qui-Gon. He couldn’t even imagine anyone else. 

Qui-Gon spent time with him nearly every day, helping him with Force training and sparring (even though they had to use the silly practice sabers) and showing him the coolest places in the Temple. He told Anakin about the history of the Order. Sometimes Qui-Gon walked Anakin back to the initiate floor while describing the craziest adventures from when he was a young Knight, and some from when he was a Padawan himself. It was weird to think Qui-Gon had ever been a kid, but he used to think the same thing about his mom. He always wanted to see a picture of her when she was a little girl, but slaves didn’t exactly have a bunch of keepsakes. He wondered if Jedi were allowed to keep holos and things like that. He would have to ask Qui-Gon.

He rounded the corner to the Healer’s Wing and gave a little wave to Docent Perch. Basically everyone knew him around this place. He hadn’t been a patient himself since he arrived from Naboo and they had to give him about a million shots so he wouldn’t die from all the flus and bugs and pox because Galactic City had life forms from everywhere, and they all had germs. Qui-Gon had explained germs to him a lot. Anakin knew it was really important to wash his hands with soap _and_ hot water _and_ keep scrubbing them until his skin was pink. He wasn’t allowed in the Ward until he washed his hands like that. Twice.

It was weird at first, because no one washed their hands like that back home---or, back on Tatooine, he guessed he shouldn’t call it home anymore. His mom did but mostly when she was gonna cook something. A funny pain twisted in his chest when he thought about her, but he kept walking, let the sadness sit there inside him. Qui-Gon had assured him it was okay to miss his mother.

_“Sometimes an ache can feel overwhelming. You needn’t conquer it all at once. Sometimes it cannot be conquered. Sometimes it doesn’t need to be.”_

Usually Anakin was confused by that philosophy type of talk, but when Qui-Gon said it, he understood, because he knew Qui-Gon was sad, too. Maybe even _more_ sad than Anakin.

Mom was far away, but Obi-Wan was further away, even though he was in the Temple. 

He stopped at the familiar door and placed his palm on the entry pad.

It was really still inside. Anakin thought the room seemed like it was stuck in a grey twilight, not dark or light, and the steady chirps of monitors replacing the hum of thrithflies. 

Qui-Gon turned in his chair. “Hello, Anakin.” He greeted softly, with one of his gentle smiles. “I was hoping you would visit today.”

Anakin had learned pretty early on that the healers didn’t like it when he galloped, or talked too loud, so he folded his hands behind his back and padded over to Qui-Gon. The man smelled like spicy soap, different than the antiseptic bite of the air in the hallway. He stood next to the chair and Qui-Gon pat his back. 

“I washed my hands good this time.” Anakin promised, looking right into Qui-Gon’s clear blue eyes. “And I feel fine. Great, actually, because Master Windu said I don’t have to do all those baby classes anymore.”

It was really good news, but Qui-Gon’s smile fell, which was totally _weird_ and made Anakin’s gut do that too-warm gurgling thing again. 

Qui-Gon cleared his throat. “That’s wonderful, Anakin. What exactly did Master Windu say?”

Anakin quirked his mouth to the side. He kept looking at Qui-Gon; he didn’t like looking over at the bed, and the wires, and the mask—

“That I’m about ready to be promoted, be a Padawan, you know?”

“Ahh,” Qui-Gon had a bunch of tiny lines around the corners of his eyes. He had more when he was laughing, or sad. “I’m proud of you, Anakin. You’ve made remarkable progress. And so _quickly_.”

Was being _quick_ wrong? Anakin shifted his feet. He was starting to sense Qui-Gon’s feelings in the Force, just faint impressions, but enough for Anakin to know when he was hiding something, or maybe not telling the entire truth. “You said...before, I mean, you said…”

Qui-Gon smiled again, but the light did not reach his eyes this time. He glanced over at the bed and then back at Anakin. Qui-Gon put his big hands on Anakin’s shoulders, guiding him to stand in front of the Master. “I would never go back on my word, young one. I still believe in you as much today as I did when we met.”

Anakin straightened as some of the sick roiling eased inside him. When Qui-Gon told him things like that, he felt like he could fly, or do anything. “Thanks, Master Qui-Gon. I didn’t want to bother you when you’re… _here_.”

Qui-Gon touched Anakin’s chin. “You don’t bother me. You are a very perceptive boy, Anakin, but not everything you perceive is simple.”

“I know it’s complicated.” He hunkered down next to Qui-Gon’s chair, crossing his legs and pulling at a loose thread on his trousers. “I still have dreams about the thing that did it.”

He felt Qui-Gon studying him, and the man’s subtle interest through the Force. “You do?”

“Yeah. I only saw him those two times but he was like a monster or a devil or something.” Anakin knew what the thing was really called, but when he said the word, _Sith_ , his whole body shuddered, as if all the ugliness in the Universe was poking through his skin. “I dream that he doesn’t just come for Obi-Wan, but he comes for you, too. Once he came for me, and it was the _worst_.”

Qui-Gon smoothed his hair and it felt nice, like when Mom combed his hair through her fingers in the morning. “He won’t come for you, Anakin. Perhaps we could meditate together tomorrow.”

Anakin really didn’t like meditating. His mind didn’t work that way, but Qui-Gon was super good at it and it wasn’t so boring when they meditated under the huge trees in the Gardens. 

“Can you meditate with Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, glancing up. “Maybe he could talk to you that way.”

Qui-Gon’s gaze dropped to his hands, laced in his lap. “That is a wonderful suggestion, Anakin. I would be very happy if he responded. So far, he has not.”

“Oh.” Anakin’s eyes crept to the bed, to the pale face halfway hidden behind the medical mask. In his head he knew Obi-Wan wasn’t scary and definitely couldn’t-and _wouldn’t_ -hurt him, but the mask and the sharp whine of artificial breathing was still...creepy. And he felt like a jerk for thinking it. Obi-Wan had almost died to kill the horned thing, to protect Qui-Gon and Queen Amidala and everyone else. He felt like even more of a jerk for thinking it would be better if…

Except he couldn’t finish a thought so mean. What would Mom think? 

He knew what Qui-Gon would think. He would be really mad. Qui-Gon was always mad when a healer or someone from the Council suggested taking the machines and mask away. 

“I’ve been thinking...Qui-Gon, you can’t be my Master if you’re still Obi-Wan’s Master.”

Qui-Gon heaved a sigh. “That is the rule, yes.”

“So if you train me, you won’t be his Master anymore, and then the Council would decide what happens to him?”

Qui-Gon clasped his shoulder. “As I said, Anakin, you are very perceptive.”

Anakin couldn’t tell if that was a good thing from the way he said it. He leaned against Qui-Gon’s leg and closed his eyes, not because he was actually tired, just so he could pretend they were somewhere else. 

——

Qui-Gon led the boy along the pathway through the Gardens, pointing out unusual fauna. “That particular bloom contains teeth, to catch flying insects.”

Anakin did a double take. “For real? _Whoa_.” He grinned. “I didn’t know flowers could have teeth. That’s wicked.”

Qui-Gon chuckled. “They are rather wicked. The insects are not always killed for food.”

“Then why kill them?”

“Amusement.” Qui-Gon said. “The whim of a bored and violent creature can be a very dangerous thing.”

“Yeah,” Anakin agreed earnestly, glancing back at the deceptively pretty patch of flowers. “It’s good they’re all stuck in the ground, huh?”

“If only all such mischief makers could be planted in the soil. Then we’d have much more free time.” Qui-Gon observed. It was the sort of dark humor Obi-Wan would appreciate. He could feel the weight of his Padawan’s absence here, where they had spent many afternoons, in meditation or companionable silence. He still expected to hear that set of footsteps just behind him, catch the swing of a long braid out of the corner of his eye. 

“I wish we could plant the Council like that.” Anakin hopped on one leg, avoiding the cracks in the duracrete like every youngling before him. “Then maybe they would just leave us _alone_ for awhile. I’d even water them...sometimes.”

Qui-Gon was surprised by his own bark of laughter. How did he always attract such cheeky apprentices? Of course, he reminded himself, Anakin was not his apprentice. He could not be, unless… “I think we’ll stop here, if that’s alright.” 

The rhiini tree was a favorite of Qui-Gon’s, with its cascading veil of lavender leaves. He and Anakin settled beneath it, folding into meditation pose. 

“Now,” Qui-Gon began quietly, “What must we do first?”

Anakin huffed. “Quiet my mind.” His fingers idly tapped against his knees. “But...like...how does that even work? I’m always thinking about _something_. Aren’t you?”

An image of Obi-Wan rose, unbidden, as he had been the morning of their last day: his eyes bright, his youth and goodness an almost painful flash in the Force. Obi-Wan, who had already forgiven Qui-Gon for his betrayal in the Council meeting. _Always_. “Yes, and that is why we must strive to release ourselves from distraction, and focus inward. When we do that, it is easier to hear what the Force tells us. Now, close your eyes.”

Anakin obeyed, and they sat for several minutes, waiting for him to stop fidgeting.

Qui-Gon felt when Anakin finally slipped into a shallow trance. He lowered his shields enough to lend placidity to the restless spirit.

_Breathe._

_Seek who you are._

_The Force._

The boy’s presence was as strong as any Jedi Qui-Gon had ever encountered. Stronger. It was a gift, but a gift fraught with danger. 

_This is why he needs you. This is why you must--_

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open. Mace Windu was standing just outside the waterfall of leaves. He dipped his head in mute greeting.

Anakin sat back in the grass with obvious relief. “Is mediation over?”

“Meditation,” Qui-Gon corrected, “And it is over, for now. I need to speak with Master Windu. I’m sure you have some homework that needs attention?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Anakin popped to his feet and wiped his hands on the front of his leggings. Then he seemed to realize his mistake and sketched a hasty bow in Mace’s direction. “Nice, to um, see you,” the boy said, before scurrying back down the path.

The Korun Master snorted. “I have to admit, the boy is entertaining. Most of his instructors get a kick out of him.” 

“Most?” Qui-Gon raised a brow. 

“Master Nu.” Mace could not quite suppress his grin. He looked younger, less like the stern Council member and more like the spontaneous kid Qui-Gon had grown up with. “She wants him banned from the Archives.”

Qui-Gon stood up, inhaling the faint scent of the rhiini blossoms. “Master Nu wants everyone banned from the Archives.”

“In that, we are in perfect agreement, my friend.” Mace motioned to the winding path beyond them. “Walk with me?”

Qui-Gon felt a cold rush up his spine. He did not move. “If this is about Obi-Wan, I have nothing to say. My decision is unchanged.”

Mace crossed his arms. A few leaves from the tree drifted between the two men. “Anakin has excelled at an impressive rate. He needs one-on-one, intensive instruction. He needs a Master.”

Qui-Gon lowered his head. “It is not I who decides the rules. I am perfectly capable of training Anakin without being made to relinquish my duties to Obi-Wan.”

Mace stepped through the curtain. His dark eyes were solemn, devoid of their usual aloof disapproval. “No one could accuse you of relinquishing those duties, Qui-Gon. Your dedication to your Padawan is commendable.”

“That is kind, Mace. And now you’ll tell me the right thing to do is let him go.”

“This is not easy on any of us. Obi-Wan was one of the most promising students —“

“ _Is_. He _is_ promising.” Qui-Gon dropped his hands to his hips. “You speak as if he is already gone. I cannot give up on him so easily. He sacrificed himself to kill the Sith. Should we honor that sacrifice by letting him die?” He heard his voice crack on that last, damnable word. 

Mace took a slow breath. “Is his current existence honorable, Qui-Gon? Would he want to live the rest of his life in a bed, hooked to a respirator, unconscious? Would _you_ want that?”

“You didn’t see him that day. He was full of life. He wanted to live.” Even after the blade cut through his body, Obi-Wan struggled to hold onto the fraying threads of his existence, looked up at his Master with such sweetness, and Qui-Gon had never felt the true depth of Obi-Wan’s love for him until the young man was writhing in his arms, with a gaping hole in his chest. The love surpassed agony, evil, jealousy. It was the essence of Obi-Wan, the Light, and Qui-Gon could not….could _not_ turn away from it. 

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. I’ve only seen the aftermath of Naboo. I’ve only heard what the healers have reported to the Council. Your hope is understandable, but at war with reality.” Mace squeezed his shoulder. “You wanted to train Anakin. This is your last chance to do so. Anakin has a _chance_ , Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan does not.”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “How can the Council ask this? Anakin will know his training comes at the expense of another’s life.”

“It will be up to you to guide him, so he understands and appreciates what Obi-Wan did for him, for us all.”

Qui-Gon swallowed a sour thickness in his throat. “How could I choose, Mace?” He whispered. “How…”

Mace just looked at him, compassion and pity resonant within the Force. He was too tactful to say what he must be thinking, what Qui-Gon himself could not stop thinking--Qui-Gon had already chosen Anakin over Obi-Wan once, when Obi-Wan was fully aware of what was happening. He remembered announcing his intention to train Anakin, the way Obi-Wan’s head snapped in his direction, the silent, accusing burn of those grey eyes.

“You are not choosing anything, Qui-Gon. It is merely the acceptance of fact. If you care at all about Obi-Wan or Anakin, you will allow Obi-Wan the rest he deserves.” 

Qui-Gon gathered calm from the trees, from the plants, from memory. “He deserves time. As long as I am his Master, he will be given that time.”

Mace’s jaw tensed slightly. “The Council, as you know, is not powerless in this situation. We have been lenient thus far, but if we need to intervene--”

“If you intervene, I have no place in this order.” Qui-Gon said, and swept past the other Master.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

\--

That night he dreamt that Obi-Wan was walking with him in the Gardens. The trees loomed above them, the flowers trembled and swayed as they passed. 

“I miss you,” Qui-Gon whispered. 

Obi-Wan did not look up.

“Will you tell me if you’re in pain? Will you tell me you’re there?”

Still no answer. They walked until the Gardens he knew lay behind them, and ahead was a dark and tangled forest. 

Obi-Wan started to head into the shadows there but Qui-Gon gripped him by the arm, pulled him back. “No, Padawan, stay here with me.”

And then Obi-Wan looked up, and his face was smooth and unencumbered, his eyes so blue. “He’s waiting for me. I should go.”

His fingers curled into Obi-Wan’s tunic sleeve. “You shouldn’t _go_. You should stay with me, where you belong.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. “He’s waiting.”

Qui-Gon clasped him by both arms. “ _Who_?”

“The Sith,” Obi-Wan answered, in that soft and lilting Core accent, as if it was quite a normal thing to say. 

“He’s dead. You killed him. You cut him in half.”

Obi-Wan twisted in his grasp. “He’s waiting.”

“ _I’m_ waiting,” Qui-Gon would not let him go. “I will wait forever if I must. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Padawan.”

“We don’t have forever. It hurts. I’ll go now.”

“Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, no. The Sith hurt you but he didn’t _win_. He died and you _lived_. Come back with me. We’re all waiting for you. Your life is waiting, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan wrapped his hands around Qui-Gon’s. “I’ll go soon.”

He wrenched awake, covered in sweat. Dawn filtered through the blinds in his sleeping quarters. 

_Soon._

He ran to the Healer’s Ward.

\------

Two figures in white tunics were leaning over the bed when Qui-Gon entered. His heart leapt into his throat. 

“What happened?” He demanded, breathless.

One of the figures looked up. He recognized her as an apprentice healer, with large violet eyes and cornsilk hair. “Just the usual monitoring, Master Jinn. We were about to bathe him.” She offered a small smile, and he saw the pity in it. “Unless you wanted to…?”

Obi-Wan had always been modest about his body. Qui-Gon took care of hygiene whenever he was available to do so. He stepped forward and took the sponge from her outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

The healers left swiftly and silently. 

Qui-Gon waited until the door closed, then drew down the blankets. Obi-Wan’s gown fastened in the front, and Qui-Gon slid his arm under the limp body to remove it. The charred hole in Obi-Wan’s chest had healed, with only a faint red mark remaining as proof of the Sith’s resurgence. 

He touched the scarred skin. Phantom pain seemed to vibrate from it, from the old wound. 

_“M-Master….I’m sorry….”_

_“Don’t say that...shhhh….you’re going to be alright, I promise you.”_

_“....hurts…”_

_“I know. I’ll help you.”_

Qui-Gon had nearly died helping, absorbing so much of the injury himself that by the time a medical crew arrived, Master and apprentice were both sprawled on the generator floor, in the twilight between corporeal existence and eternity. He had been revived easily enough, and immediately gave away any vitality he had to the flickering presence of his Padawan, until the healers realized what he was doing. 

_“You are pouring your lifeblood into a sieve, Master Jinn. The damage is catastrophic. He will die regardless. Do you want to die with him?”_

The answer had been _yes_. He did not want to live if his apprentice was dead. He had looked into the putrid yellow eyes of the Sith and knew that hateful stare signaled a new and terrible age for the Jedi. For the galaxy.

How could he face such darkness without Obi-Wan’s light?

He dipped the sponge into the basin of warm, soapy water and began his task. Healer Che had suggested one of the best things to do for a comatose patient was talk to them. 

So he talked. 

“Knight Muln is still on his extended mission in the Outer Rim. He asks after you whenever he can get a connection. Of course, Healer Eerin is here every day.” He soaked the sponge again, and gently ran it over Obi-Wan’s thin arms, avoiding the port in the left crux, and myriad tubes attached to support equipment. “Anakin is doing very well in his classes. He’s taking an ancient literature course. He reads to you from the books. If you hear him, I’m sure you’ll agree his pronunciation skills need some work.” Qui-Gon’s soft chuckle devolved into a strangled sob. He turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut. _Damn the Council. Damn them_. He dashed the tears from his face and cleansed Obi-Wan’s midsection and legs, holding any lingering emotion tight in his chest. 

“I’m sorry, I…Obi-Wan, Padawan, what can I do?” His eyes roamed to the Learner braid trailing over Obi-Wan’s bare shoulder. “I made a promise to you, on Bandomeer, and on….” He faltered, had to steady himself before going on, “...Naboo. I also made a promise to Anakin, though I know it wasn’t the right time. I still think it is imperative that he be trained. 

“But what the Council asks of me is intolerable. Choosing one Padawan at the expense of another. Would I look at Anakin and see what I lost?” Washing Obi-Wan’s hair and face was the most difficult, as his respirator could not get wet, or be removed. Qui-Gon dabbed the sponge over auburn hair, outgrown from its cropped Padawan cut. “And what repercussions come with Anakin being assigned a Master that doesn’t understand where he came from...or if he is not apprenticed at all? They must see that the circumstances are unique.” He untied the colored threads from the braid, and set them on the side table, in order of achievement. “Do you remember in the beginning, when you used to lament your stubby braid? And you were not exactly adept at plaiting back then. I would have you start over and braid a section of my own hair as an example.” 

Now the braid would fall past Obi-Wan’s waist, if he stood. If he could stand. He carefully washed and rinsed the kinked length of hair. 

“I meant it when I said you were ready, Obi-Wan. You _will_ be ready, again. And I will find a way around this rule. You needn’t worry about anything.” Qui-Gon stroked the side of his face. The dream sullied the edges of his mind, a distant sense of dread. “If you come to that dark place again, do not go in, Padawan. I am still your Master, and I forbid you from going there. If it beckons you, look for me.” 

But of course the only response came from the machines, measured and passionless chirps, proof of life and vindication of his hope. 

———-

Natu was picking at her lunch. Anakin had seen her eat maybe one muja slice and she had steered clear of the spiced potatoes and nerf ribs on her plate. It just didn’t make any sense to him. On Tatooine, you never _passed up_ food, because who knows when you’d get more. He supposed Natu and the other initiates didn’t know what it was like to lay awake at night, feeling like your stomach was gnawing itself, or doing the worst jobs at the Junkyard hoping it would earn you some of that meat lump stew the old timers would leave for Watto. 

If Natu didn’t eat now, she knew there would be another meal in a few hours. 

Anakin’s stomach twisted with that hot, queasy feeling again, but he kept eating anyway. He told himself it wasn’t her fault she was raised without having to be scared or hungry, just like it wasn’t his fault he was—he used to be—a slave. He licked the marinade from his lips and gulped down another glass of ice water. Ice was kriffing awesome. It would melt in like a second back home.

Not home. The Temple was home, with its huge statues and trickling fountains and giant cafeteria. 

“Hey Anakin, did you hear?” Natu smiled at him, her eyes bright. “Master Mundi has asked me to be his apprentice. _Officially_.” The syllables floated from her tongue. People from the Core Worlds sounded so fancy. She was human like him, but older, with brown skin and a soft cloud of black hair. “I’m so excited I can’t even eat. I keep waiting to wake up and find out it’s been a dream!”

Anakin grinned back at her. Now he sort of understood why she wasn’t scarfing all this good food. And he really understood the dream part. Every day he had to remind himself this was his life. Good and bad. “That’s so cool. When do you get to start goin on missions and stuff?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. But it’s the best feeling, knowing I’m going to be a Padawan. You’ll know what I mean in a couple years, Anakin. I’m sure you’ll have your pick of Masters.”

Anakin felt a flush in his cheeks. Some of the other initiates were mean to him. He knew it was because they were jealous, like when he’d get all that attention because of his pod and Kittster would suddenly get mad at Anakin for dumb little things. But Natu was one of those people that was naturally kind; she sparred with him during open salle time and sat with him in the cafeteria when he was eating alone. “I’ve already got a Master. Master Windu told me I’m gonna be a Padawan really soon.”

“Wow, Master _Windu_ is training you?”

“No, not him,” Anakin was pretty sure Master Windu would rather marry a dewback than train him. “Master Qui-Gon.”

“Oh, Master Jinn. He’s going to be your teacher?”

Anakin was annoyed by her tone. “ _Yeah_. What’s wrong with that?”

“No, nothing,” Natu shrugged, “I’ve just heard...it doesn’t matter, Anakin. I was foolish to say anything. It’s wonderful that you’ve already been chosen.”

But Anakin wasn’t stupid. He knew when someone was being nice to cover up something that wasn’t nice. He didn’t know being a Jedi would be so...confusing. “What did you hear about Master Qui-Gon?”

Natu chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve heard that his second apprentice turned to the Dark Side and his next was killed by that Sith.”

Anakin shook his head. That couldn’t be right. Jedi didn’t use the Dark Side. Someone like Master Qui-Gon would never let that happen. He would _know_ , because he was super smart and Anakin secretly thought he was smarter than Yoda. “Obi-Wan isn’t dead, Natu. The Sith got ‘im but missed his heart and the really important stuff. And then Obi-Wan cut the ugly mudcrutch in _half_. Like two pieces.”

Natu’s eyes were wide. 

Satisfaction tingled in the back of Anakin’s mind. “Master Qui-Gon says Obi-Wan is just having trouble waking up. I see him all the time.” He didn’t mean to sound proud about it, but he was, kind of. “He’s always asleep. Qui-Gon says everyone has to be extra clean around him cuz he can get sick if someone sneezes down the hall.”

“I had no idea. No one’s seen him for so long, Master Jinn either. I hope he’s going to be okay.”

Anakin looked down at his empty plate. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.” Natu touched his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. But I don’t know...it doesn’t really seem like Obi-Wan is going to wake up, even though Qui-Gon says it like every day. He can’t be my Master unless he tells the Council he’s not going to be Obi-Wan’s Master anymore. But I really want to be his apprentice. And he promised me, when he took me from my mom.”

Natu pushed her plate in front of him. “That sounds hard. Master Jinn must be so conflicted.”

“Yeah,” Anakin glanced up at her, “Did his apprentice really turn bad?”

“That’s what everyone says. It was before I was born, but you know, even Masters talk. But I have to go meet with Master Mundi right now actually so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Anakin quirked his mouth to the side. “Sure, thanks, Natu. I hope he’s a good Master.”

“Thanks, Anakin.” She stood and straightened her white tunics. He could feel her nerves like a quick flutter through his head. “And hey, I hope Master Jinn can train you.”

“Me too. See you around.” He watched her walk across the crowded room. He imagined wearing white tunics like Natu and not getting any of his lunch on them, and having a perfect braid like Obi-Wan, and saving slaves like Qui-Gon. 

Anakin ate the potatoes Natu had given him, even though they were cold. He knew he could be the best apprentice ever, because he was the Chosen One (something Qui-Gon told him not to say around anyone else) and he was pretty sure that meant he was the best. He would make Qui-Gon forget about that evil Padawan, who was a kriffing _traitor_ , and he would make him forget how sad he was about Obi-Wan. 

A Master as special as Qui-Gon was like ice on Tatooine. He didn’t want to lose him.

——


	3. Chapter 3

He found he did not think back on the pivotal moments the most, but the inconsequential jokes, scraps of some quiet day spent traveling, the way Obi-Wan would stir Qui-Gon’s tea three times before giving it to him.

When he corrected Anakin’s stance in kata practice, he would hear Obi-Wan say “ _yes, Master_ ”. His quarters were overrun with little memories. Sometimes he could not bear to walk in the door, but when his heart ached he would stand in Obi-Wan’s room, or sit on the edge of his neatly made bed. After they returned from Naboo, Qui-Gon sat on that bed for hours, frozen in shock. 

He sat there now and considered again what Mace had said. He did not understand the Council’s insistence that he pass over Obi-Wan’s guardianship. What lesson did that teach young Anakin? That a commitment can be shed, if circumstances change? I am dedicated to your care and teaching, as long as you are not terribly injured? 

The chime sounded, startling him from his reverie. He rubbed his face and took heavy steps to answer the door. He had expected to see Mace, or Yoda, someone to remind him again that he needed to make this decision. 

Instead he looked into the dark eyes of his own former Master. 

Qui-Gon was too dumbfounded to hide his surprise. 

Dooku stood with his arms folded into his sleeves, a long and dark column in the doorway. His measuring gaze flicked over Qui-Gon. “It is good to see you, Padawan. Although I anticipated a bit more of a greeting than you standing there, mouth agape.”

Qui-Gon cleared his throat and bowed. “Forgive me, my Master. To what do I owe this visit?”

Dooku’s eyebrow lifted. “Do I need a reason, my old apprentice? Would I be permitted to come inside?” 

Some small part of Qui-Gon who was still a gangly and uncertain Padawan reared up inside him, and he was briefly struck by that particular kind of panic inspired by unannounced guests. He had not been the best housekeeper since returning from Naboo, often forgetting to set even the cleaning droid. Obi-Wan had taken over those duties by the time he was fifteen. “Of course, Master. Please.”

Dooku moved with a cold, liquid elegance, undiminished by age. Qui-Gon led him to the small sitting area, motioning Obi-Wan’s door closed as they walked by. 

He put on a pot of tea and rejoined his Master, who sat with his hands folded between his long legs. “I will expend with the pleasantries, Qui-Gon. From what Yoda has told me, time runs short.”

Qui-Gon schooled his features to remain impassive. “You have spoken to Master Yoda?”

Dooku smiled. He remembered meeting the man for the first time, half a century before, seeing all those long white teeth, noticing how some of them looked pointed. “He is my Master as I am yours, if you will recall. I make it a point to speak with him when my schedule allows. Would if all former Padawans observed the same manners.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I know I have been remiss in communication, Master. Things have been...complicated.”

“I’d rather say so.” The older man smoothed the shoulders of his cape. “I’m told the Council is growing impatient with your current situation.”

_Peace. Calm_. “Apparently the first Jedi in a millennia to kill a Sith Lord is not healing on the Council’s schedule.” Qui-Gon said, hearing the trace of acidic resentment in his voice, despite his efforts. 

Dooku studied him. “ _Is_ he healing? That is the question the Council is surely asking themselves. Or are you ignoring the will of the Force to suit your own inappropriate emotions.”

The kettle whistled and Qui-Gon was grateful for the excuse to walk into the kitchen. He poured two cups, reciting the mantras he had, ironically, learned at Dooku’s knee. “I would not subject my apprentice to undue pain.” As always, things unspoken lingered in the air between them, subtle accusations that would never be addressed. “Every scan has shown brain activity. I could not live with myself if—“ He placed the cup and saucer in Dooku’s heavily lined palm and reclaimed his seat, unable to continue.

“And if Kenobi never awakens, and Skywalker is insufficiently trained by another Master, or worse, cast out of the Order?” Dooku sipped and grimaced. “Your tastes have not improved since you were under my wing.”

Qui-Gon gave a wry smile. “A humble Jedi cannot afford your tastes, my Master.”

“So it would seem.” Dooku set the cup aside. “But your taste in apprentices vastly improved between, what was it, the second and third? Certainly Kenobi is superior to that raven-haired pretender you wasted all those years on.”

Qui-Gon looked down into his tea. “I agree.” He said softly. 

“I have not met him, as you know.” Dooku said, with an old undercurrent of offended pride. “But I sense the Force has greater things in store for him than being euthanized to make room for a slave boy.”

A saber to the gut would have hurt less. “The Council does not want to…” He faltered, started again, “They believe they are acting with compassion for Obi-Wan. I’ve no doubt of that. They acknowledge Anakin’s potential now, where they refused to in the beginning. The Council is not my enemy. I simply wish they could see my point of view.”

Dooku chuckled. “A common refrain from _you_ , Qui-Gon. In all these years, it has not happened.” He steepled his long fingers. “Are you prepared to make the decision they put before you?”

“I will not. My place in the Order hinges on Obi-Wan’s place.” Qui-Gon could admit that Dooku was still an intimidating presence, but in this, he was unshakable, and he didn’t care what his mentor thought. 

But Dooku nodded. “The Council seems to think they are the ultimate authority on the ways of the Force, the purpose of the Jedi. I’ve had my own clashes with them. In fact, I have spent the last several years on the precipice of resignation. But when Yoda discussed with me your plight, and young Kenobi’s, I felt compelled to act in some way.”

Qui-Gon’s heart thrummed. “What do you mean, my Master?”

Dooku’s dark, nearly pupiless eyes bore into his. “I plan on retiring to Serreno, and taking up my rightful position there. The Order is not what it once was. They serve an increasingly corrupt government, rather than the true will of the Force. My natural family is of no small means, and I shall inherit their fortune when I assume the role of Count. I will have the time and financial resources to support Kenobi. He will be taken care of, and you can move on to young Skywalker’s training.”

He sank back against the couch, thoughts layering one on top of the other, and he found he was blinking back at his Master, at a loss. “Serenno is...far from here.” The words fell clumsily from his mouth. 

Dooku waved a dismissive hand. “It is closer than the grave, Qui-Gon. You will not be given exactly what you want, that is obvious. I am offering you more than the Council will.”

Qui-Gon glanced back at Obi-Wan’s closed door. His throat dried. “I still expect him to walk in at any moment.”

He was surprised by the hand on his shoulder. Dooku responded in a low, soft tone, “His only chance is to come with me. The finest medical team on Serenno will consult. I have staff at the ready.”

His former teacher sounded like he was speaking from another room. Qui-Gon realized it was because he felt removed from the situation, willing himself into the past, where Obi-Wan was _awake_ and vibrant. He had held such high hopes for his Padawan. 

He had also kept Obi-Wan away from Dooku and his dubious influence. It seemed misguided to just surrender his vulnerable student to the man now. 

“We have experienced our share of differences, Qui-Gon. But I do not want to subject _my_ apprentice to any more undue pain. My intentions are pure. He will be safe with me.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head. The path he had carved out with Obi-Wan, this life they had shared for twelve years was turning in a direction he could not follow, and it was inexplicable, unendurable, except that he would have to endure it. “I cannot allow him to die. Master...he is the best of us.”

The hand on his shoulder pressed firmly. “And that is why he must come to Serreno, Qui-Gon. Sometimes we must find the frailest glimmer of light in a dark sky.”

Qui-Gon looked up, seeing the lamplight catch in Dooku’s black gaze. “I don’t know what to say.” He answered hoarsely.

Dooku smiled again. “Well, my Padawan, you could start with _thank you_.”

———-

He numbly went over details with Dooku, and then contacted Yoda. It was an usual agreement, transferring the guardianship of a Jedi to a man who was, going forward, a private citizen, but the Council was already aware of Dooku’s intentions, and approved them.

It was several hours later that Qui-Gon returned to his quarters again, wandered into the fresher, and vomited.

———-

He could not bear to open Obi-Wan’s door.

He stood in front of the room where his Padawan has grown from a reckless child to a thoughtful and talented Jedi, and knew that he was making a mistake, knew also that a mistake could be the best option, the brightest light, in a dark sky.

Qui-Gon straightened his rumpled tunics and started the familiar sojourn to the Healer’s Ward. 

———


	4. Chapter 4

———

Anakin was really excited. But he wasn’t supposed to be excited, so he rolled that feeling into a little ball and hid it behind what he was _supposed_ to be feeling. 

He was supposed to be very solemn. That’s what Mom had called it when they went to their neighbor’s grave that one time with the bundle of yellow flowers. At the grave he stood with his feet together and his hands folded in front of him, so that’s what he did now, standing next to Qui-Gon as the docents rolled a big, wheeled bed up the ship ramp with Obi-Wan in it. 

Master—it wasn’t _Mister_ , and he was finally getting that right—Qui-Gon had sat him down the other day and explained that he was going to start his real Jedi training, and move into Qui-Gon’s big quarters and get a braid like a real Padawan. It would be pretty stumpy at first, not long like Obi-Wan’s, but Qui-Gon assured him that the Learner braids always started out looking stumpy, and he would need to be patient.

That was one of the biggest parts of being a Jedi, Anakin decided. Being patient and waiting and acting like you felt the same way all the time. 

Which was kind of a problem because he felt all sorts of different ways all the time. He was super excited to be Qui-Gon’s Padawan and he really wanted to get back on a ship and just be flying, flying anywhere. Especially on this ship, that looked like nothing Anakin had seen in his whole life, sort of like if that old lady with the blown glass stand back home—back on Tatooine, not home—blew a whole ship out of black glass. 

But he shouldn’t be excited about dumb stuff like ships because Qui-Gon was really sad. Anakin thought he might be more sad than anyone could even see, but was doing the hiding thing Anakin tried to do. So he was also sad because Qui-Gon was sad, and just sad for Obi-Wan too, cuz he was a young guy to be spending his life sleeping. 

He glanced at Qui-Gon and the tall Jedi wasn’t looking at the bed or the ship or Anakin. He was staring ahead, like he was trying to read something written on the horizon but couldn’t make it out. 

“Where are we going again?” Anakin asked, when the silence was making him too itchy.

Qui-Gon looked down at him. He laid his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Serenno.”

“Serenno…” Anakin repeated, liking the nice, warm way the big hand felt. “So Obi-Wan is going to live there now with your Master?” He had seen Master Dooku, sort of, the other day. He looked old, and towered over everyone, even Qui-Gon. “He reminds me of a tree. Like a...scary tree.”

The corner of Qui-Gon’s mouth curled and his mustache twitched. He was definitely trying not to laugh. “Master Dooku is generously offering to oversee Obi-Wan’s care at his personal residence on Serenno. He has the means to support Obi-Wan beyond what the Temple can currently provide.”

“Ohh,” Anakin said, following Qui-Gon onto the ship. “So he’s rich? That makes sense. Cuz he kinda reminds me of the fancy slavers who’d sometimes show up on Mos Eisley. Man, Watto hated them. Said they always had their noses in the air and…” Qui-Gon glanced behind him and Anakin remembered another talk they’d had. About talking. And what _kind_ of talk was appropriate at _what_ times. He could feel the tips of his ears burn. “Sorry.”

But Qui-Gon didn’t seem mad. He never seemed mad at Anakin. He was more like Mom, who just got this look on her face sometimes like she wanted to be mad but really thought he was funny. Qui-Gon guided him to a seat and crouched in front of him. “You don’t have to be sorry, Anakin. I want to know about your life. You are going to be my apprentice, and I want us to learn about each other.”

Anakin felt a bright little flutter in his chest. “Will you tell me stuff about your life too? You and Obi-Wan? If you tell me about him then I can be like him and be a really good Padawan.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “I’m happy to tell you about my life. When you have a question, you can ask me.” He looked away for half a second, and when he looked back at Anakin, he seemed..heavier. “And I’ll tell you about Obi-Wan, but you should only strive to be yourself, Anakin. You cannot be Obi-Wan, and I wouldn’t want you to be.”

It was a nice thing to say. But Anakin felt the flutter darken, sink and twist in his stomach. He glanced at the door where they had taken Obi-Wan. “Is he going to come back? Like back to the Temple, someday?”

Qui-Gon smoothed Anakin’s hair. “I believe he will, young one. And we will visit him whenever we can. Once we take off, I would like to sit with him.”

Anakin shifted in the chair. “Can I ask you anything? Really?”

“Of course. What do you want to know?”

“Well...I guess maybe I just don’t get why you sit with Obi-Wan so much. He’s not doing anything.” Anakin admitted. The teachers at the Temple said he shouldn’t fidget, even if he was nervous; instead he wiggled his toes inside his boots. “I’m not trying to be mean, Master Qui-Gon—“

Qui-Gon held up a hand. “No, I know you’re not, Ani. It’s a good question.” Other grown-ups would be standing so Anakin had to look up at them. Master Qui-Gon stayed hunkered down so they could look right into each other’s eyes, like Anakin was as important to talk to as anyone. “I miss Obi-Wan. Some Jedi form strong connections within the Force. I am used to feeling his presence there. He has been my student for a long time. Longer than you’ve been alive.”

Anakin gaped at him. “Whoa.”

“As I said, a long time.” Qui-Gon clapped his arm.

“Will we be together a long time?” 

“What do you think, Anakin?”

Anakin smiled. Where he was from, you could make a best friend one day and then the next day they’d get sold and you’d never see them again. He didn’t have to worry about that with Master Qui-Gon. And Obi-Wan was going to live far away from them but he wasn’t gonna just disappear like all the people Anakin knew and lost on Tatooine. “I think we’ll be together forever.”

He felt the ship vibrate under his feet and he got that rugged flip-flop feeling as it took off, a happy whoosh that emptied the sad stuff out of his head. He was getting a braid and he’d go on all kinds of adventures with Qui-Gon and free Mom and he’d make sure she had everything she needed and Obi-Wan would have everything he needed too and someday he would be a tall Jedi in a clean robe with his arms tucked into his wide sleeves and maybe a kid would look at Anakin the same way Anakin had looked at Qui-Gon that first time. Like a hero. That would be so cool.

———


End file.
